


Chapter 2: In House Valentzia

by LadyJesus



Series: Child of the Imminas [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, His Dark Materials, Stranger Things - Fandom, The Game of Thrones, The Wheel of Time - Fandom, Twilight, Wicked, the lord of the rings
Genre: Descended from the Gods, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24591730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJesus/pseuds/LadyJesus
Summary: A century after the attack on the Watchtower, the remaining Immortals are reunited by a single vision. The birth of a new era brought by the mingling of mortal and immortal souls.
Relationships: Familial bond - Relationship
Series: Child of the Imminas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777627
Kudos: 1





	Chapter 2: In House Valentzia

It was near dusk when a stooped figure stole through the small village of D'Arzan like a ghost, deep in the forests of Zeniya Island. The villagers had long grown accustomed to the comings and goings, at the most random hours one might add, of the old Wise Woman who lived on the outskirts of town. She'd speak in low eerie tones as she'd bandage your wounds, then snap like a caged animal if you stood in her way. The women in town all revered her, and spoke in hushed whispers about her like the item of great gossips. She had lived in that small cottage for many years now, for grandsires would speak of her great healing abilities as the most natural thing in the world. She moved with easy alacrity for someone her age then. How greatly preserved she must be, thought some of the younglings as they attempted to trail her across town but lost her in the darkening woods. But she was to this, and many things, oblivious.

Immina Tu'Astha glided through the trees, lost in thought. A hundred years of mourning had passed now, for the tragic deaths of Khavin Eldest and the Great Council, for the destruction of the tower and many of its Immortal members. For a century now, scattered Immortals hid amongst the humans of the north, living in fear of the Imperial Inquisition, created and led by Khestal and his cronies, for she would not grant him the title of Imman any longer. How had our race come to this? she thought in angered despair. Could the Gods have deserted us, abandoned us in our arrogance and pride? No. Never that. Balance must be restored, the old ways demand it. Something would happen for sure, and soon, she could almost feel it... and welcome it.

She was reaching the clearing of tonight's excursion when the thralls of the Sight took her. She felt a part of herself seized in flight, speeding steadily to the far north, settling at last in what seemed to her the royal palace in Zirkonasta. Then she saw two figures pacing back and forth in a brightly lit chamber, one clinging to the other as if in great pain. That's when she noticed something strange, the sickly adhering form was emitting a glowing silver light from her deeply protruding round belly. Trying to hold to the Viewing without success, she decided to burn every detail to memory instead. For surely that had been Pfatima, in labor it seemed, clinging to her younger sister Pfetiya. But in the Zirkonian royal chambers? Had she appealed to House Valentzia for assylum, for what else could an Immortal be doing in a human palace? You are hiding in a forest house yourself, woman, she reminded herself tersely.

Before she realized what she was doing, she was hurrying back the way she'd come, passing trees in a daze, ignoring a crowd of children on the edges of town, crossing the whole of the village in a huff, finally reaching her small cottage on the fringes of D'Arzan. She started to pack in haste, thinking sweetly of the company of others of her kind. If those two had eluded the Khestal, then certainly so had many others. Something could be done at last, for wherever three Imminas gathered, people tread carefully indeed. So ran the thoughts of Immina Tu'Astha, the greatest of the Immortal healers, as she moved around her small cottage reminiscing of centuries long gone, but above all, thinking about her future and that of her race.

But she was not in this alone. From every end of the Islands, dispersed Imminas had been shaken out of their stupor and recovering quickly, with long forgotten but easily remembered practice, flocked northward like birds to a nest. Change was in the air.

Part Two

Viktor Valentzia, King of Zirkonia and High Seat of House Valentzia, sat huddled in the dark hallway leading to the royal chambers of his queen, a shell of himself, racked with anguish. All night she had been screaming into the night, howling like a wounded animal while he waited impatiently outside. Damned midwives! he thought angrily. Couldn't they hear her pain? How could he possibly put her through this again? The love of his life, the beautiful Pfatima who appeared to him but a few years ago as if from the air itself. Glorious brown hair streaming behind her, gleaming green eyes in that small face that so easily broke into laughter. If anything were to happen to her... No, he must not think that way. She would pull through this like everything else. Small, fragile looking creature she may be but a tough one at that. 

Total silence emanated from the inner rooms now. Why was the babe not screaming? He stood up, rushed at the doors and knocked savagely. "What is happening in there?," he yelled through the thick doors.

An old, twig-like woman opened the door quietly and whispered, "My Lord, your wife must rest now. The birthing has been a difficult one, but rest assured, she is fine. You may see your children," she said noticing his dismay, "yes, your twins, My Lord. When they are made presentable." And slammed the door in his face. 

He stood there, rooted to the spot, in shocked silence. My twins? He was a father. He flushed angrily, staring at the shut doors barring his way. Was he not the lord and master of this household? Damned women! he thought again and stole into the room, his eyes slowly adjusting to all the light. His wife lay in a giant bed immediately across the doors, unconscious and still fevered-looking, the small figure of his sister hovering protectively and soaking her head with a damp rag. Pfetiya turned to him in cold anger, how like his Pfatima she could look sometimes, he realized then.

"You were told to wait outside, your majesty," she spat over her shoulder. "My sister must rest now."

"I wanted to see these miracle children of mine," he said, starting across the room where the old crone sat humming to a rocking crib. He peered into it with trepidation and was met by two sets of bright green eyes, staring up at him with an all-knowing gaze not unlike that of his loving wife. Heads topped with black fuzz much like his own. They're beautiful! he thought in wonder.

"Men," said Pfetiya in venom. "Never a thought for their wives but for those shrieking little carbon copies they can produce!"

"You go too far, sister-in-law," said the King, color rushing to his cheeks. "I am trying not to think about her lying there, as if near death, to spare myself. I love her so, you know this."

Pfetiya relaxed slightly and muttered back, "and she loves you, Viktor, or we'd have nothing to hold my hatred in check." She laughed to herself in subdued tones. "Now that you have seen your adoring wife and children, you may leave us," she said, turning once again to the pale, sweaty lump that was her sister, putting the king and everything else for that matter out of her mind. 

As he walked out of the room, with his tail between his legs, he marveled again at how those two could possibly be related. True, they may look very much alike, but looks alone was where the connection ended. Pfatima was a gentle, loving creature. With enduring patience, wisdom beyond her years and kindness like no other he'd ever met. Pfetiya was all sharp edges and a volatile temper to break the Gods themselves. Balance was truly their way of life then, for the sisters protected each other with a fierce passion. He was nearing his own chambers when he noticed his chamberlain wringing his arms in a nervous tick he seemed to suffer, relaying orders to the small group of servants surrounding him.

"Your Majesty, I trust all is in order with our Queen?," he asked immediately, but continued rather hurriedly, "The most unusual thing you ever heard, Master," he said, returning in his nerved state to the familiarity of his most faithful attendant and long-lived friend. "Two most distinguished guests have arrived at the palace. Somehow evading all the guards and demanding an audience with the king at once!"

"At this hour, Aro? Whatever could be the matter? And what exactly do you mean they eluded all our guards, are they dangerous then?," he asked the chamberlain apprehensively.

"That is the question indeed, My Lord. Unless I am mistaken, and I do not think I am, they may well be the Immortals my old men used to tell me stories about," he said now in clear excitement, his old eyes twinkling merrily. "They are said to have great powers, My Lord. How else could they come into the palace unannounced?"

"Ridiculous," said the King at once, but followed his chamberlain to the throne room nonetheless. He heard an intoned "His Royal Highness, the King Viktor Valentzia" as he walked into the room and settled comfortably at his seat. Two tall women approached him on light feet, as if flying across the room, stopping several feet before him. Both with hair so blond it seemed to shine in the candlelight, and ancient eyes so blue they seemed dark in the distance. They were striking in robes so white they seemed to draw the light, and the eye as well. Certainly these were beings of myth come back to life, he thought in disbelief. But rack his brains as he might, he could not find his tongue to address them.

The one to the left moved slightly into the light and Viktor noticed her round, motherly face. Relaxing at last, and shaking himself, the King said, "Late is the hour for the matters of court, gentle women, but tell me, how may my Kingdom aid you in this night?" The second woman sniffed loudly, pouting her lips and raising her chin in petulance.

"We have reason to believe two of our own reside within your castle, child, and have come to retrieve them," started the motherly one closest to him. The King flinched slightly at being called child by this woman who looked no older than him. "Tell me, where are Pfatima and Pfetiya? Or take us to them, for long have we feared their demise."

"Who are you to address the King of Zirkonia so, woman? If that is my wife you are referring to, you shall take them nowhere without my consent."

The two looked at each other quickly, silent conversations passing between those old eyes of theirs. If there was shock or distress to the King's outburst they did not show it. 

"I am Immina Raenata and this is Immina Tsutana, and we address you so because Immortals of the Tower bow to no man. Now, if the sisters are here as we suspect, we will have you tell us, child."

Shock rocked his body. Could this be? The ancient beings people told stories to their children about. Well, here two of them stood, or so they claimed. "If you are who you claim to be, you will not mind showing me, will you? Immortals are said to have great powers, let's have a demonstration then," he said onto the two.

"How did Pfatima fare in her birthing? Are the children alright then?" queried the second woman, ignoring his demand.

"How do you know that?," asked the King, paling visibly.

"We are what we are, child. And we've had enough of this! The royal families of our time did not treat their betters so. What is this world coming to, I'd like to know?"

"Pfatima and my children are resting," the King found himself responding in rushed whispers, his world tumbling around him. His wife, and his sister, Immortals? What did that make his daughter and son? True, he'd always known his wife was special. But never this, said a tiny voice in the back of his head, in slight resentment. He turned to his chamberlain, who stood respectfully beside the doors he'd crossed not minutes before, and called, "Aro, go to the Queen's chambers and fetch for me her sister Pfetiya, I'm afraid she's got some explaining to do."

The doors were opening silently when Aro stepped out of the way in surprise, for here she came, uncalled for as she usually did. Pfetiya, the sister of his beloved.

Part Three

Pfetiya walked into the room, blind to all but the two striking figures at the foot of the throne, towering over the King himself. She had already seen them with her Gift, but long had she neglected her Power. She cut across the large chamber in a hurry, settled before the two women, and bowing to the eldest as was customary, said, "Immina Raenata, it is you!" She threw herself into her arms and sobbed loudly, years of growing frustration and fear rushing out of her system at last. The second woman moved closer, and recognizing her features through tearful eyes, nearly screamed, "Oh, Tsutana, I'm so happy I could burst!"

The King stared at her as if through new eyes but she no longer cared. She had been angry, bitter and strong for too long now. If the Imminas were coming out of hiding, then she and Pfatima were truly safe again. It must be so, she thought aggresively, willing it to be so.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter: Old faces, new Places


End file.
